


The Dead Speak In Riddles

by Destructive



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destructive/pseuds/Destructive
Summary: Their father died fifteen years ago. They're still trying to carry on his legacy, still trying to make sure the world knew what he did for it. Waverly hopes she'll find her own way to respect his memory. Wynonna wishes they didn't have to.
everyone needs a good superhero au in their life. mostly from waverly's pov. relationships won't start for a few more chapters, but boy, will they be there.





	1. Wild & Wicked World

When you have your family’s legacy to carry on, there are certain… expectations that you have to meet. One of them would be to stop the person trying to kill your dad. Another, which spawns off of this, would probably be that you shouldn’t kill your dad with your own hands. Oops.

If she was asked about it, Waverly would deny that any of it ever happened. No, there were no powers in their family. No, their father did not die when his arm, shoulder, and half of his chest were sent into the closest thing to hell one could imagine, halfway around the world while the rest of him stayed put. No, their eldest sister didn’t disappear. She died in a car crash, with their dad in the front seat. That’s how both of them went. There were no heroes or villains involved. Just the cold, deciding hand of poorly manufactured automobiles.

Willa got too torn up, you see. That’s why it was closed casket. Waverly would say this, over and over when asked about her sister.

Their father had an open casket, weeks after his death, once Wynonna had arranged to get his body parts sent back. It took time to piece him together again, but once it was finished, he was buried right next to Willa’s empty grave.

Waverly didn’t remember crying, but she did remember Wynonna’s tight grip on her shoulder, and the cold, sinking feeling when she saw the look on her older sister’s face. She hadn’t been there. Waverly hadn’t been there when their father died. It was too dangerous, he had said. Someone without powers shouldn’t be there to drag the rest of them down. So when Wynonna came home with only half of their father’s body dragging behind her, Waverly couldn’t understand. She doubted that she ever would.

The night after the funeral, Wynonna cried. Waverly tried to comfort her, insist that it wasn’t Wynonna’s fault, and that was when Waverly learned that it was, in fact, Wynonna’s fault. Her older sister confessed, through cold tears and tensed shoulders. She could have stopped it. Could have saved him. Instead, she murdered him.

The apartment that the three sisters and their father shared had two bedrooms. The girls slept in the same one, and their dad in another. That night was the first night that Waverly slept in a room without her older sister, instead curled up with Gus, while the sounds of Wynonna’s sobs echoed through her mind.

Twelve years passed quietly after that. Both girls continued their education in a small private school in Los Angeles, the city where they’d been born and raised. Gus and Curtis became their guardians, and the world kept turning.

New heroes emerged in the wake of Peacekeeper’s disappearance. When asked to recall who these new heroes were, Wynonna would shrug it off and say something about Flameboy and Watergirl. She didn’t keep up with the state of heroes anymore, even going to the point of actively avoiding them. After having your life ruined by superheroes, you tend to grow a distinct hatred for them.

Waverly was the opposite. She thrived off of their hardships, and pushed herself to find out more about what had happened to them. Knowing that Wynonna would never approve, she kept her research hidden, claiming to go to the library to work on projects over her summers off, all while stacking the pile higher with books on metagenes.

The summer that Waverly graduated high school, Wynonna disappeared, leaving only a note saying that she had to, that she couldn’t take it anymore. Waverly cried, this time. She sobbed into Gus’ shoulder, recalling distinctly the time twelve years ago when she hid behind Gus for a similar reason.

After turning nineteen, Waverly discovered her own powers, quiet in the dark and gripping a human femur bone and shaking with fear.

Three years later, and she’s almost mastered them. She hasn’t told a soul. Not her aunt and uncle, and certainly not the sister who dropped all contact with her. Instead, she spends long nights away from the apartment, honing her skills and slowly becoming more powerful.

When she hears word of Peacekeeper’s return, she isn’t as surprised as she should be.

\---

“... So you’re sure Wynonna’s back in town?” Chrissy raises an eyebrow at her.

Waverly sighs. “Definitely. She keeps leaving these messages for me and I can’t stand it. I mean, she has to know that I know that she knows that I know she’s here, right?” She gestures wildly as she talks, glaring down at her coffee.

“I’m going to pretend that I know what you just said and say sure.”

“It’s just...” Waverly hesitates before visibly deflating. “She’s kind of… leaving voicemails. But without the voicemail part.”

“Oh, so like mail. Maybe even delivered by an owl. Or is she just texting you? Leaving dead mice like a cat? Come to think of it, there’s a lot of ways to tell people things without using voicemails.” Chrissy gives a small laugh before tapping on her chin. “You think she hired a deep web hitman to hunt you down? That would be one way to send a message.”

Waverly rolls her eyes and keeps talking, ignoring Chrissy’s comments. “I just don’t know what to do. She still hasn’t come by and she didn’t tell me she was coming, but there would be no way for me to miss the hints that she’s hanging around again. And now I have no clue where she is.” She pauses for a second and considers it all. “... Do you think she actually did hire someone to kill me?”

Chrissy grins. “Absolutely. But don’t worry, I’ll attend your funeral and make sure everyone wears those funky chicken costumes that you like.” As she finishes, Chrissy stands up and stretches. “I’ve gotta get going. Meeting my dad for lunch. Text me later?”

Waverly nods, giving a small wave. “Yeah. It’ll be hard to do that from the grave that Wynonna’s gonna put me in, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She laughs, and as she walk away, Chrissy turns back for one last comment. “Oh, and my advice? Send her a message back. See how she likes it!”

And with that, Waverly is sitting alone at a small table in a local coffee shop, with too much to consider and too little to work with. By the time she gets up to leave, her coffee’s cold and her legs are asleep and she’s more confused than when she started.

\---

Waverly arrives back at the apartment well into the afternoon, opening the door with a jingling of keys. “I’m home!” She pauses for a moment, and after getting no response, pushes her way into the small living room. Her arms are overloaded with grocery bags and her coat’s over one shoulder, and for a second she thinks she’s going to fall, but no, she’s way too smooth for that, and settles on wobbling only a little bit. She sets the bags on the floor in the kitchen, and takes a second to turn the tv on while she unloads the groceries into their designated spots.

“-local authorities have stated that the criminal known as-” Canned foods go here. “-Shadow Assassin was behind the attack on-” Apples go here. “-the Virtue Bank, which left three prominent members of the Next Electricity Company, including the CEO, dead-” The rest of these go here. “-and many more injured. The police have also suggested that there was-” And this last one goes here. Done. “-a member of the bank’s security team working with Shadow Assassin. Although proof of this theory is yet to be found, it’s not entirely impossible, as witnesses have stated that another metahuman was present.” Waverly blinks at that, and walks closer to the tv with a frown etched onto her face.

“Footage from the scene shows exactly what happened two days ago. But we must warn you. This is extremely graphic, and we encourage you to look away if you are uncomfortable with this sensitive content.”

The screen shifts from the face of a news reporter to the footage shot by a shaky, unprofessional cameraman. Whoever is recording is clearly using their phone to do so, and their breathing is heavy and panicked, loud enough to cover up all other sounds. The camera’s placed low, where the person is likely laying on the floor to avoid being shot, because oh god, there are people dropping like flies. A person running in front of the camera suddenly falls to the ground, and blood begins to spill onto the floor. A gasp can be heard from behind the camera, and then a choked sob. In the distance, at the side of the bank that is furthest from where the person is situated, a black object can be seen floating through the room. It’s vaguely human-shaped, but no one would ever make the mistake of calling it one. It pauses. That’s when something odd happens. A person- a security guard?- walks up to it. Although they’re too far away to be certain, they seem to be talking to one another. After a moment, the Shadow Assassin pulls out a gun, and shoots the person point-blank between the eyes.

The guard doesn’t move. Doesn’t fall backwards, doesn’t stumble, doesn’t even acknowledge the bullet now lodged in their head. The room slowly grows darker than before, and right before it becomes pitch black, it seems as if the guard is reaching up to their forehead, and maybe… perhaps, is pulling the bullet out. The footage cuts.

“And what a horrific day that was…” The news reporter lets the comment fade before picking up again. “In other news, authorities have also stated that the hero known as Peacekeeper has agreed to cooperate with them in an attempt to bring these two metahumans in.” A blurry picture of a person clad in leather appears in the corner of the screen. A bandana covers the person’s face, but Waverly’s already halfway out the door and muttering to herself.

“Wynonna!”

The tv continues to drone on as she locks the door. "Nicole Haught, the security guard from Virtue, is currently wanted by the state. If you have any information about her, contact that police immediately."


	2. Bottom of the River

When you grow up in a world that hates differences, you learn to be the same. For some people, it takes longer. They need time to shape and mold themselves to society’s standards. To push and pull themselves apart, to break down and build back up. The Earps never did learn how to do that. They crumbled at a touch, and came back misshapen, but still distinctly… them. They would not conform to society. So society pushed back.

In 1907, with President Theodore Roosevelt heading the country, the first metahuman was brought to the public’s eye. He was known only as a ghost, and he revealed himself with fire and fear. He burned down small towns, collapsed families in on themselves, and became a symbol of hatred. His powers were never known in their entirety, but what was known was that he certainly wasn’t human. Not anymore, at least.

Stories spread of how he was just a city boy with a good future and a sparkle in his eyes, until one day, he wasn’t. Others countered this story by saying no, they knew him when he was little and in their tiny town, and how they watched him kick cans in the winter and farm in the spring. His origins became muddled with time, but in the wake of the disasters he had caused, it didn’t seem to matter. The public’s outrage grew, with their fear leading them to make terrible choices.

In 1908, the White Badge Task Force was founded with the aim of capturing and containing the creature that they had labeled “First”. First’s list of victims grew, and it became obvious that this wouldn’t be the end. For each step that the White Badge Task Force took to stop him, he was there to meet them, tooth and claw. As the task force began to amass more information about the creature, they suffered terrible costs. Dozens of members of the military groups were killed in cold blood, and he was only picking up speed.

By 1910, the hatred for metahumans was so heavily embedded in society that there would be no turning back. That’s when the riots started. Thousands took to the streets, shouting for justice and threatening anyone who seemed vaguely different from the average human. Hundreds of innocents were killed. Many, of whom, did not have any supernatural or special abilities. Shot down by the people they called friends, thrown out of family homes, and murdered on the streets. 

So they started to fight back.

In 1911, a second metahuman became known for outlandish forms of homicide. The White Badges would come to call him “Second”. Second, unlike First, had no sense of flare when it came to his crimes. He slaughtered those he came across, and nothing more. He had no wish to be known. No, Second just enjoyed the kill. A beast that walked on all fours, who shook his head wildly and grinned when he saw prey. He would be the first metahuman killed by the White Badge Task Force. In the summer of 1913, in front of an old sandwich shop in New York, he was gunned down by an undercover member of the force. Doing so didn’t bring back the dead, but there was a distinct satisfaction in knowing that for all their power, they were still mortal.

The White Badge Task Force got their first taste of blood, that summer.

Over the course of the five years following Second’s death, eight more metahumans would rise to become some of the most famous murderers known to the world. They spread their twisted form of chaos around the globe, terrorizing anyone they managed to find.

In 1918, according to the reports published by the White Badge Task Force, the remaining nine metahumans were eliminated during synchronized assaults around the globe. The reports commended the work of their now-global organization, and the following days were full of soldiers being awarded badges for bravery.

For some, this wasn’t enough. The animosity towards these abnormal genes never truly settled down, and many countries remained on edge throughout history, fearing another attack from the inside.

Over time, it became alarmingly clear that these metahumans were not going to stop appearing, despite the riots and outrage of the public. More innocents fell at the hands of their neighbors, friends, and families. It would continue on like this for several years before pro-metahuman activists began to protest in kind.

The anti-metahuman movement didn’t see any dramatic end. It didn’t end with a flash or a bang, but instead faded slowly, until present day, when most keep their hatred for metahumans a secret. The sudden appearance of more helpful, kind metahumans certainly did help lessen the pain inflicted upon metahumans. But whether or not they are loud and proud about it, the fact that there are people who vehemently despise metahumans is still well known. Because of this, it’s expected that all metahumans remain hidden away, keeping their powers to themselves unless necessary.

It’s during this slow evolution that it becomes clear that this world would be home to something greater than humans… superheroes. And supervillains, if the first few metahumans had shown them anything.

More has been revealed about metahumans since then, of course. It’s common knowledge that the metahuman gene has no clear indicators before birth- some wouldn’t develop any signs until late into their life. There was one case, Waverly would recall, of a woman who didn’t show any powers until the day she was to die of cancer, only to revive merely seconds after, in pique health. Another, where a seven year old boy froze half of his house with one touch.

As a general rule, things didn’t end well for the metahumans that developed powers before they were old enough to know to hide them. During many times like this, their family and loved ones would send them away. To private boarding schools, to train them to use their powers, they would say. It was rumored that they would never emerge from these schools the same, but without basis, and with very few people willing to meddle in the affairs of potentially dangerous metahumans... Nothing could be certain.

It was because of situations like this that metahumans continued to hide themselves. Fear of being rejected, fear of being attacked, fear of the government taking them away if they should will it. In the end, fear ruled them.

Metahuman heroes had become more popular over time, and their numbers increased steadily over the last few years. Many were kids who wanted to make a name for themselves, ones who got in over their heads and ended up dead a few weeks after being established as a good guy. Some were older, set in their ways, and determined to protect the world. They didn’t last long, either. Because the average lifespan of a hero was less than a month, it wasn’t difficult to become famous for lasting longer than that.

Ward Earp had held the title of Peacekeeper for fourteen years. His father before him had held it for five. Before that, seven. There was one in the long line of Peacekeepers that only lasted eleven months, but became one of the most famous Peacekeepers to live, with over fifty villains locked away by himself. Each Peacekeeper had subtle differences, ranging from looks to speech patterns and mannerisms. But two things remained the same with each new Peacekeeper to come along. First, the signature old fashioned gun was present in one way or another. Whether it was used or simply strapped to the Peacekeeper’s belt, it was always there. Second, the powers that each possessed.

Scientists of the twenty-first century would claim that there are dozens of branches of metahuman genes. Spawning off of anything from what they were exposed to as a child, to heredity aspects, powers differed between people, for the most part.

Manipulation powers were the most common- to take an aspect of reality and shift it to your will. This could lead to many different powers, and each one of those would have a subpower within itself. Heat manipulation, which branched into anything from control over fire using only your left hand, to the power to pull heat from an object using only your gaze. Gravity manipulation, which could allow someone to shift the pull of gravity on an object, but in one case, they could only increase gravity, and in another, decrease.

There are thousands of powers that one may be born with or develop over time, each with its own level of uniqueness. It was rare to find more than one person with the same power, and even more rare to find an entire line of those with these repetitive aspects.

The Earps are one of those lines. Dating back even further than the White Badge Task Force, the Earps have possessed the ability of teleportation through the use of projectiles. Through the use of their powers, they can turn a bullet into a one-way trip to hell central. Getting them back is a bit harder, but that’s fine by Earps. So long as they’re shooting the right person, of course.

There were many possible uses for their powers. Anything from hitting yourself with a rock and using it to send you straight into the largest bank in the country, to sending criminals directly into jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Most Earps stuck to the right side of the law, with a stray or two going off to steal a famed jewel or maybe the Mona Lisa, but what’s a few prized possessions between friends? Or… work buddies, if you would consider the police and these “heroes” to be that close.

In any case, the presence of the Peacekeepers had always just… been. Whether or not the public accept them didn’t seem to matter anymore. The Peacekeepers didn’t stop existing, and they certainly didn’t stop their peace-keeping, even with the unconventional means that they used to do so.

Waverly supposed that was why reporters hadn’t been surprised when a new Peacekeeper appeared after fifteen years of silence. There had been missing gaps before, but one this long was nearly unheard of. But that’s a bit hard to focus on when you’re going on a rampage out of your apartment complex.

It was one thing to disappear suddenly, another to stay gone for three years, and a completely different thing to come back and not say anything. Her sister had always been frustrating, sure, but this was taking it to whole new levels of asshole. And, worst of all? Waverly couldn’t bring herself to hate Wynonna, even with everything that her older sister had done. She couldn’t even pick something to be angry about, but she just knew that she had to be angry about one of the awful things Wynonna had done, so she settled on being angry in general and called it done.

Her mind was racing, trying to think of anywhere that Wynonna would be. She didn’t come back to the apartment, and Waverly had already checked her sister’s usual spots. (Including her favorite club, which the younger Earp had never been into before. After getting a drink spilled upon her entering the building, she decided to leave for the night. Not that she needed to cool down, what with the wet shirt making her shiver and all.)

Waverly had made a list of places, as any good planner may do, and had crossed off each, one after the other, until none remained and she was at a loss. Now, more pissed off than before, she was more tempted to go running down the street, screaming Wynonna’s name until she got a response. And she would have, had she not felt the vibrating of her phone the moment she stepped on to the sidewalk outside the apartment.

“What?” She could hear the anger in her voice, but when you’re related to Wynonna, that was bound to happen.

“Waverly. We’ve got something for you.”

She could feel herself relax at the familiar sound of work (literally) calling. Something to take her mind off of things may be exactly what she needs.

“Please tell me you’ve at least cleaned up this one. It was super gross the last time you called.”

“No promises. I’ll send you the address. You’re going to love this one.” Waverly could almost hear the smirk on the other end of the line, and she exhaled loudly before hanging up.

Her sister could wait a few more hours. After all, Waverly had been waiting for three years, and she’d been doing just fine.

\---

The younger Earp’s job was unique, to say the least. But her niche love for different languages usually came in handy, and she couldn’t ask for much more than that. It made her hobbies feel loved, and in turn, made her love her hobbies even more. And it did require a certain… skill set that only she had. Or at least, she was the only person she knew who could do anything like it.

It was half an hour before arrived at the warehouse. At first glance, the place seemed empty, but Waverly didn’t hesitate to push further in. The place smelled of burning flesh and she gagged at the thought of what may be further in. A few moments later, and a crime scene came into view. 

The usual police tape, dead body, objects scattered around. It was a sight that she’d gotten used to over the last few years, even if she hated that she had. She hardly even felt sick at the sight of blood anymore! Though that did make blood donations a little less frightening, so there was that. A positive side, even to murder.

Waverly glanced around, and having decided that no one was present, she took a step forward with a frown.

“Dolls? You know you can’t scare me. Er, well... You can, but I know some major karate moves, and don’t think I’m afraid to use them.” She paused and licked her lips. “This isn’t cool. I-” The next sound that came out of her mouth was high-pitched and almost inhuman, and she clawed desperately at the hand that now rested on her shoulder.

“Waverly. Calm down. I just had to talk to one of the other agents.”

When she turned around to face the voice, it took her a moment to take it all in. Xavier Dolls was several years her senior, almost a foot taller than her, and would be pretty intimidating… If it wasn’t for the playful smirk he was giving her. Which, all things considered, was extremely rare. That isn’t to say he wasn’t a fun guy. To the contrary, Waverly enjoyed talking to him, and often found herself laughing at everything he said. But he was a bit… serious, if she were to call him anything.

And he looked exhausted. Smile aside, it looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Waverly furrowed her brow at that, but knew better than to ask.

“Oh. Right. Right then. Okay. So should I- should I just get to work?” She asked, mentally chastising herself for being so on edge.

“Well, that is what we pay you for. Unless you’d prefer if we stopped paying you. Then you’re free to do whatever you want.” His small smile stayed.

“Right! No sirree, I love my job. Even with the whole Sixth Sense vibe.” At that, she gave a breathy laugh and glanced over at the dead body on the floor.

After a few nods and some awkward shuffling, Waverly found herself sitting next to a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, and just so happened to have half his face burned off. Ouch. She grabbed at one of his cold hands and closed her eyes. Time to work. And time to try and ignore the voice in the back of her head that was telling her to go look for Wynonna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be the last chapter of mostly world building! anything else that needs to be said will come in small bursts instead of taking over the story. if you have any suggestions or anything you'd like to see in this, let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if there's anything specific you want to see in this! i'm always looking for input. future chapters will be much, much longer.


End file.
